


Absolutely Nothing.

by BigFootGirl



Category: Pilgrimage (2017)
Genre: Crusades, Death, Fourth Crusade, PTSD, Penance - Freeform, Third Crusade, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 01:43:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13494186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigFootGirl/pseuds/BigFootGirl
Summary: Pre-Pilgrimage.The Mute was not always a mute. War can change people in some of the hardest ways.





	Absolutely Nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing (and next-to-nothing) about the Crusades or war or how it can affect someone. This is just my idea of how the Mute became the Mute.

He was not always a Mute.

Once upon a time, he was Jean-Michel de Garmeaux, fourth son of the Chevalier de Garmeaux and sixth son of his wife. A pious figure in his childhood, he nevertheless showed an aptitude for battle, time and again beating two of his older brothers in matches while their sisters looked on.

It was this aptitude that would prove to be his undoing.

Jean-Michel joined up to fight in the Crusades at the age of 15, acting as his brother Jean-Pierre’s squire. Unlike their eldest brothers to crusade, Jean-Paul and Aubin, neither had ever seen war. They were both excited and terrified at the prospect.

They fought bravely (sometimes) in the fifteen years they were in the Crusades. Sometimes they fought cowardly, too, for there rarely is bravery involved when setting buildings on fire. They joined up with a group from Rouen, led by the knight Raymond de Merville. Not much older than Jean-Paul, he preferred to fight up close and dirty if he could, using a mysterious implement gifted to him by a priest. Not many of the soldiers from Garmeaux liked him, but war was war and there was not much fair fighting when people were trying to kill you.

The Sack of Constantinople changed everything. Jean-Paul was the first to go down, followed shortly thereafter by Aubin. Jean-Pierre disappeared a week later, only for his broken and bloody body to be discovered by another in their company a day after.

Grief and rage became his constant companions. He tore through men with a speed and ferocity that earned him the nickname “Diable sanglant.” The bloody devil.

Wherever he went, death followed, along with the appropriate name (“Mort”). It did not matter whose sword crossed his, they would soon be nothing more than someone’s memory.

It felt like he didn’t stop for years, when it reality it was only months. Constantinople was taken by the Crusaders on the 12th of April, in the year of their Lord, 1204.

The victory did nothing to assuage his emotions. Hi grief, anger, rage, all swirled through him like a whirlwind. He wasn’t done killing. He wanted-no, needed-more to kill. He had no interest in the raping and looting and whatever else his fellow soldiers felt inclined to partake.

His downfall came on the 14th.

There was a child, no older than 6, crying over the body of what was once a woman. Her hair had been scalped by pulling and cutting. Her body broken by rape and maiming. Her death brought about by the knife in her stomach. The child tried, but could not remove the murder weapon. No one seemed inclined to help.

Jean-Michel de Garmeaux, fourth son of Chevalier Jehan de Garmeaux and sixth son of Cateline, broke down in tears. He dropped his sword and picked up the child, holding them to his breast as he wrapped his cloak about them both. Tears made clean trails down blood- and dirt-stained faces as he continued in the direction he believed a still somewhat whole church to be standing.

As he approached the church’s doors, a man emerged. Dressed in the costume of a monk, he stopped short when he spotted the Norman soldier. Jean-Michel stopped, too, and opened his cloak to show the man the now-sleeping child. They were quickly ushered into the building, the monk looking about for anyone who might wish to loot the house of God of its meager treasures.

“The mother is gone.” His voice cracked as he stated the child’s status.

“I see. And the father?”

Jean-Michel merely shrugged. He had not seen anyone else with the two and the assumption of the father’s fate was left unsaid.

The monk took the child into his arms as they hurried to the back of the church. It would be an easier rest for both in a cell than the floor.

“Brother, is there someone to whom I may…confess?” he asked some time later as he pushed the plate and cup he had been served away from himself.

“Only I and a novice, and neither of us is a priest.”

“Then I have but one thing to say: I, Jean-Michel de Garmeaux, son of Jehan and Cateline, take a vow of silence until my misdeeds have been rectified by acts of penance. I have no hope of Heaven, but I may yet spend eternity in Purgatory. I ask that you and this church care for the child.”

“My son, do not state such a thing lightly! You are tired, and in grief. Please take the time to think about what it is you have sworn!”

Jean-Michel agreed to think on it, though he knew that it would all be the same in the morning, or a week or a month from that moment.

Just before Matins, he slipped from the church. He had just enough money left on him to leave with the monk, and set off on foot, one weary step at a time, before he would eventually reach la Manche. His last act of selfishness and deceit was to steal a boat and sail away. He hoped he would meet his death throughout his whole journey, but Death did not come.

Instead, he met his salvation.


End file.
